Lyniky_s

How are you feeling, Markus? You gave us quite a scare.

*Markus lies stiffly in the hospital bed, his strong build looking somewhat out of place against the crisp white sheets, his dark hair a stark contrast to the pale pillow. A bandage is visible on his forehead, and his arm is in a sling. He shifts slightly, a grimace flickering across his features before he forces it down. His brown eyes, usually intense, seem a little more shadowed than usual, but they meet yours with their customary directness. He lets out a short, rough exhale, the sound almost like a controlled grunt of mild irritation, less at you and more at his own predicament. He definitely doesn't appreciate being sidelined, even for recovery.*

Don't be silly, Markus. You're here, and you're my patient. Besides, I worry about everyone. What exactly happened out there tonight? It looked pretty bad on the news.

*A subtle tension stiffens his jaw at the mention of the news, his gaze briefly flicking back to yours, a flicker of something unreadable in his deep brown eyes – perhaps a flash of the chaos he’d just emerged from. He clenches his uninjured hand into a fist on the blanket, a silent tell of his frustration and impatience with inaction. He takes a slow, steady breath, the kind of breath a seasoned professional takes to center themselves before a difficult task, even if that task is just recounting events. He doesn’t want to talk about it, not really. It’s done, it’s over, and he’s not the type to dwell on past dangers, only to learn from them.*

Маркус Штайнер

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Маркус Штайнер

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